Spiraling Downward
by StarClan's Nightmare
Summary: I hope he saw me plunge over the edge of the overhang. I hope he hears me scream as I tumble down. I hope he will know that it is all his fault. ::oneshot::


**While I'm brainstorming for "Mother" and my other stories, I pulled this angsty little oneshot out of my hat. Like it? Hate it? Review....**

"Spiraling Downward"

The life of an elder is supposed to be one of relaxation, comfort, and peace. He or she must be treated with utmost respect and dignity. Anything an elder wants, they get. These wise old patrons of the Clan don't even have to clean themselves; their every need is satisfied by energetic, spirited apprentices. All the elders have to do in return is tell kits stories of their Clan, the "old days", or the grand adventures they had in their youth.

This easy life is supposed to be a reward for the loyal and brave members of the Clan who live long enough to retire. Even though many new warriors cringe at the thought of becoming an elder, the most senior warriors are glad to be able to settle down to a well-earned rest.

Unless you are like me.

Sometimes, fate is cruel enough to force fresh, strong warriors to take up the life of an elder. Blindness, illness, deafness, injury beyond repair---the list goes on. Unless you are lucky enough to have skills to become a medicine cat apprentice, chances are you will be sent to the elders' den. What makes this so abominable is that the majority of these handicaps come through no fault of the cat in question.

Not for me.

You see, as implausible as it seems, I manifested my own demise. I paved my own way to a sentence of confinement and endless wondering of "what-might-have-been". Yet this doesn't earn me any scorn or loathing from my Clanmates, simply because they don't know. They don't know the real reason for my early retirement. They don't know the madness and despair that caused me to do what I did. They don't know how wretched and cheated I feel every day, more than any other young elder could.

~XxX~

Don't laugh, but the truth is, it all started with a tom: Rainwhisker of ThunderClan. I met him on the Great Journey, the passage from the old territory to the new. He was a charismatic, funny, good-natured warrior. We took to each other almost immediately; padding side-by-side over the rocky mountain paths, sharing tongues in the cave of the Tribe of Rushing Water, and finding something to poke fun at even in the dreariest conditions.

My friend, Spottedwing, warned me not to get too close to him. "It's only temporary, this 'one Clan' thing. After we settle into our respective camps, the boundaries will be set up and enforced as assertively as before." As a reply, I would always laugh and shake her words off like a light summer shower.

Rainwhisker was equally undaunted. "What does she think we're going to do, fall in love?"

"Like that would ever happen." Smirking, I quipped, "You're too ugly for me. And the name? _Rainwhisker_? How lame."

"Well, you're no beauty yourself. Though I can see why Leopardstar gave you the name Swallowtail." Rolling on his back, he swiped at my tail. "That thing _is _as pudgy as a swallow."

Truthfully, I was disappointed when it looked like our friendship had to come to a close. The moment arrived all too soon: the sight of his dark gray form becoming smaller and smaller as he traveled to his new territory. Still, I wasn't _very_ sad, because I knew I would see him at Gatherings and such. In the meantime, I would gather funny stories to tell him the next time we met. Life would progress normally, I reasoned.

It wasn't to be. Much to my alarm, I began to think of the ThunderClan warrior more often than not. I found myself longing to hear his voice again; to brush against his dark gray fur; to share in a private joke that would befuddle our Clanmates. The night before the first Gathering in our new surroundings, I even dreamed of him saying over and over, "fall in love, fall in love, fall in love...."

To confirm my fearful suspicions, I confided in an approachable cat whose opinion I greatly respected: Mistyfoot, the RiverClan deputy. "Mistyfoot, if you constantly think about someone, possess a need to talk to them, and....dream of them, what does it mean?"

Mistyfoot purred, her eyes gleaming knowingly. "Well, Swallowtail, in my experience, that means you're in love."

Love. It is a strange word. Now that I am an elder, I realize how much I loved being a warrior. How much I loved hunting, fighting, being a strong part of RiverClan. I can remember, even now, how much love I felt swelling in my heart when I saw Rainwhisker at the Gathering. That was when we both grasped the truth about this odd word.

For the next series of moons, I resided in a state of pleasantly numb bliss. Whether it was infatuation or passion, I wasn't ever sure. Nevertheless, I was absolutely thrilled when I was aware of his tender blue eyes watching my every move. I feel fairly confident to label that time as the most joyous in my entire life. It is certainly a step up from what I have now.

Perhaps, eventually, we would have come to our senses and gone our separate ways. However, for all I know, we could have continued our affair to the point where we would've had to run away to stay together. There are so many possibilities, many far from awful.

We had to act out the worst one.

It happened on a wildly stormy evening. The river was ramming into the shore with waves of an unimaginable size, shrieking in harmony with the drumming of the thunder and crackling of lightning. Rainwhisker insisted we met today, of all days, and against all reason, I was determined to go. Conveniently, Mothwing and Willowpaw required a guard to escort them to Moonpool (for reasons undisclosed to me). It was the perfect opportunity.

We passed through WindClan territory without issue, and my luck increased even further when Mothwing requested I leave them at the edge of ThunderClan territory. I pretended to walk back towards camp until the two medicine cats were merely blurs in the distance.

Soaked to the bone, I darted into the forest, with only brief flashes of lightning as a guide to my unfamiliar environment. By the time I reached a small clearing where we'd met before, my head was spinning and I was desperately praying that Rainwhisker didn't forget. I needn't have worried. Over the booms and crashes, a single voice meowed, "Swallowtail!"

I spun around, ears pricked up eagerly. As my mouth formed his name, lightning streaked across the sky and snapped a monstrous tree branch. In the moment of blinding light, the branch spiraled down to earth at breakneck speed. Rainwhisker didn't have time to cry out; it was over in a single thud, followed by the sickening crack of bones splintering.

My feet carried me over to his body, as my incapable mind was slowly shutting out all else around me. Cruelly, lightning flashed again, revealing my Rainwhisker's head twisted at a gruesome angle. Blood poured from all parts of his face, but his eyes were clearly glazed with permanent shock and fear; his mouth opened in a soundless screech.

Did I make it home by myself? That was another unsolved mystery. It didn't really matter, not with the image of Rainwhisker crushed to pieces invading my dreams every night. Ironically, I spent most of my time after his death in a fevered sleep. This was owing to the fact that, according to Mothwing, I was "extremely susceptible to illness because of the new development of a weakened condition". Later, I was told that I was moved to the medicine cat den since my state of health continued to decline. Several other warriors were sick, but of course they were only ill physically.

I was constantly tormented by my mind as well.

In due course, Mothwing proclaimed me "cured", and I returned to regular warrior duties. I must have masked my continued pain excellently, for even Spottedwing treated me as if I was the old Swallowtail. No one noticed how my stomach writhed in unbearable agony; it seemed to shelter a bloodthirsty entity that devoured me from the inside out. My head throbbed incessantly with visions that obscured my reason and judgement: visions of Rainwhisker, naturally. Ultimately, I understood that this suffering would never cease. That realization left me with a sole solution.

One day, before dawn, I crept out of the warriors' den with a particular purpose in mind. There was a certain rocky overhang that stood on the edge of RiverClan territory, close to where the Twolegs lived. Leopardstar previously warned all of the Clan not to venture near there, since it was very easy to lose your footing and subsequently very dangerous. That kind of situation was exactly what I required.

It was simple, too simple, to reach the top of the overhang, and before I knew it I was perched on the edge, trembling as my eyes registered the extent of the gap between my paws and the ground. I almost changed my mind; almost came to my senses; almost turned and ran back to camp. However, Rainwhisker's bloody face revealed itself in my mind; sneering at me, coaxing me, taunting me.

_"Are you afraid, Swallowtail?"_

Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and leapt over the edge. The sense of spiraling down to my death was exhilarating, to say nothing of exceedingly terrifying. My mind started racing with deranged thoughts, drowning out my earsplitting shrieks.

_I hope he saw me plunge over the edge of the overhang._

_I hope he hears me scream as I tumble down._

_I hope he will know that is all his fault. _

~XxX~

Needless to say, I did not die that day. When I hit the ground I was knocked unconscious, but my most serious injuries included my left shoulder being dislocated and my right back leg breaking. A patrol found me a few hours later and dragged me back to camp. When I awoke a day later, Mothwing had reset my shoulder, but told me my leg was permanently damaged. I would have to retire.

"Still, you were extremely lucky. That fall should have killed you. I can't imagine how you survived." Shrugging, the medicine cat looked at me and chuckled. "Guess someone in 'StarClan' was looking after you."

I never revealed the true reason for my injuries: not to Mothwing, not to Leopardstar, not to anyone. They assumed I was hunting around the overhang, slipped, and miraculously remained alive. No contradictions to this were voiced by me.

My life in the elder's den is dull, but I keep telling myself that it is because of my weakness I am here, so I shouldn't complain. After all, not everything is horrible. I somewhat enjoy teasing the brash apprentices and beholding the wide-eyed fascination of kits entranced by my stories of the Great Journey.

When they beg for it, I spin a tale of a home taken over by Twolegs, forcing the inhabiting Clans to embark on a long and difficult trek past forests, across fields, and over mountains. When I want them to understand, I tell them how all four Clans joined together as one, and many friendships were made. And sometimes, when I am content with myself, I weave in the characters of two lighthearted friends: a handsome dark gray tom and a cheeky dark tabby she-cat.

When I feel at peace, I think he would approve.

**Disclaimer: Swallowtail isn't really that depressed. I hope. So I don't own Warriors. **


End file.
